


Third Time's A Charm

by Kedreeva



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Although both are debatable all things considered, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Crowley gets stuck as a snake, Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Exorcisms, Gen, Magic, Mutual Pining, Near Miss confessions, Other, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: Aziraphale must interfere with an attack on Crowley by another angel in order to save him, and they must work together to fix the damage that was done.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 730
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	Third Time's A Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlameRaven (Lady_Viridis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Viridis/gifts).



> This was done for the Fandom Trumps Hate 2020 charity auction! Thank you to Lady Viridis for helping out a great cause!
> 
> The prompt for this was "Aziraphale rescuing Crowley from an angel/angels and Crowley being stuck as a snake."

Crowley’s first attempt at congratulating Aziraphale on the opening of his brand new bookshop had not gone according to his initial plan.

He had _wanted_ to turn up with a pleasant little pot of flowers and a box of newly-invented chocolates – something he was _positive_ Aziraphale was going to immediately love – and Aziraphale would have been excited to show him through the shelves, and perhaps they might sneak off for an early lunch. It had been a very _good_ plan, one he was very _fond_ of, it was just that _Gabriel_ was exceptionally good at having _other_ plans that acutely disrupted Crowley’s plans. The sort of plans that attempted to remove Aziraphale from all the rest of Crowley’s potential plans, and that would have been intolerable.

Fortunately, Crowley had gotten an immediate opportunity to ruin one of Gabriel’s plans in return, in order to keep Aziraphale here. This meant that Crowley now had the opportunity to congratulate Aziraphale twofold; once for opening the bookshop, and once for maintaining his station on Earth.

 _Unfortunately_ , he was not about to catch a break today, either.

A few paces from the door to the shop, Crowley was stopped dead by a crack like thunder and a flash of light that resolved into an unfamiliar angel. He tossed the flower pot and the chocolates down, hoping whoever this was would not connect the dots as to why he’d had them in the first place, and stood his ground.

The angel spotted him immediately and without surprise, and Crowley realized with a sinking feeling that this one probably hadn’t come for Aziraphale. He’d come for Crowley. He was faced, for perhaps the first time ever, with the desperate hope that Aziraphale was not in; if he was, he might have to assist this angel in getting rid of Crowley, and that would end poorly for both of them.

“You’re not much to look at,” said the angel snidely, eyeing Crowley up and down. “Don’t see what all the fuss is about. Hardly need a _principality_ to take care of _you_.”

“Tell that to your boss,” Crowley said, sounding much braver than he currently felt. For as dangerous as demons were, going up against an angel alone was a different story.

The angel snorted, and raised a hand, fingers poised to snap. “I think I’ll just show him.”

 _Shit_ , Crowley thought as the angel began to recite in Enochian.

There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, even if he had the time to do so. He reached for his own power, ready to turn this into a proper showdown in front of humans – surely Beelzebub would understand if the angel threw the first punch – but before he could even touch it, something slammed the door closed.

Fire burned through him as his scales were pushed out, and distantly he was aware of his scream being cut short as his vocal chords shifted. His spine lengthened and his face rounded forward and his teeth sharpened into needle points. He dropped to the ground amidst the ashes of his clothing and the ruins of the ceramic pot, every part of him aching with the forced transformation.

With every last ounce of strength he had left, he reared up, opening his huge maw and letting out a deep, rumbling hiss as his fangs unfolded and reached forward, ready to strike.

 _That was a_ _ **mistake**_ , he bluffed, the words crackling into his hiss and arcing into the mind before him.

He couldn’t reach his power. He couldn’t force himself back into proper form. He could strike, but any angel worth its halo would be out of range before he hit. This form was not made for fighting. It was for slinking. It was a punishment, the final sliver of his true form, a mockery of the beauty he had once been when his coils had been tenfold and his eyes in the thousands. This form was for mortal places and being stuck in it had played in more than one of Crowley’s nightmares.

The angel took a step back anyway, eyes widening. He clearly had not expected Crowley to be as large as he was, nor able to speak, and certainly not able to threaten him so boldly. A flick of his hand brought a sword to it, and Crowley knew if it came down to striking now, he wouldn’t be the one to hit.

To his left, the shop door jingled, and a pale blur settled itself between Crowley and the new angel. Aziraphale stood before him, wings up, and a sword at the ready, pointed directly at Crowley’s throat. Aziraphale’s eyes met his, and Crowley saw real fear in them. Aziraphale was _afraid_ of him. How could he not know? Even now, Crowley would lie belly up and let Aziraphale gut him, if it would protect Aziraphale. He could never _hurt_ him.

“You bloody _fool!”_ Aziraphale shouted, no trace of fear in the words. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Crowley’s mouth started to close in shock and guilt, but Aziraphale tensed, and Crowley realized that he was not the one being berated. Aziraphale was not angry at him for visiting. He was not afraid _of_ Crowley; he was afraid _for_ Crowley.

And he was bluffing just as hard, which meant he had come to help.

Crowley struck, jaws snapping shut just inches away from where Aziraphale had stood. Aziraphale was already gone from that spot, and Crowley opened his mouth and twisted toward him just in time to have his snout slapped down with the flat of Aziraphale’s blade. It should have been a killing blow, but it merely closed his mouth and sent him to the pavement a little dazed.

“The serpent of Eden breathes _hellfire_ , and cannot be cut by an angel’s sword!” Aziraphale snapped, readying his blade and once more putting himself between the strange angel and Crowley. “That’s why they _sent_ him, and now you’ve gone and granted him free access to his most powerful form!”

Crowley tried to turn his choke of laughter into a rumble as he rose up again, but he was sure it still sounded atrociously silly. It would be a wonder if they sold this bit. He struck again, and Aziraphale dodged just as easily, only this time Crowley twisted away from the blade. He did not expect to be knocked to the side, but thankfully Aziraphale was pulling his punches just a little. He would still be bruised later, but at least he was likely to _only_ be bruised.

“I- I didn’t know!” the angel stammered, backing up a step at the threat of hellfire.

“And you didn’t bother to ask!” Aziraphale snarled. Crowley did not envy the stranger for being the bullseye of Aziraphale’s wrath. “Get out of here. I will deal with you after I have properly dealt with _this._ ”

“But-” the angel began.

“GO!”

Crowley’s hiss punctuated Aziraphale’s shout so loudly he nearly missed the quiet snap of Aziraphale’s fingers. There was no way he could miss the fire that poured forth from his open jaws; it was not _hellfire_ , but the angel gave a startled yelp and disappeared in a flurry of wings and light anyway. Crowley dropped to the ground before the fire had even dissipated, utterly drained. He wouldn’t have managed another strike.

Aziraphale’s sword dropped from his hand as though it had bitten him, disappearing before it could clatter to the ground. “Are you alright?” he asked, kneeling down beside Crowley, his hands hovering but not touching. “I hope I didn’t hit you too hard?”

 _‘mfine, angel_ , Crowley told him. _Thanks for the rescue._

Giving him one more once over, Aziraphale sighed. “I assume since you haven’t changed back, that you cannot?”

_He did something weird. Said some stuff in Enochian._

“What stuff?” Aziraphale demanded, then softened. “Do you remember what he said?”

 _You know I don’t,_ Crowley said. He struggled to lift his head, twitching it to touch Aziraphale’s worried hands. _We’re barred from knowing it anymore._

“Quite right,” Aziraphale said, smoothing a hand over Crowley’s scaled head. “Can you make it into the shop? You’re a bit big for carrying.”

 _We’ll find out,_ Crowley said, and pushed himself into a squiggle to move forward.

Aziraphale was on his feet quickly, and before Crowley could explain anything, scooped up the box of handmade chocolates. He turned the box this way and that, likely because he had never seen one before, but ultimately must have decided it was not as important as getting to safety, and went to open the door for Crowley. He held it open until Crowley was all the way inside, and then locked it behind them both, drawing the shades. Crowley sagged to a stop as soon as his tail tip was in, and watched Aziraphale set down his gift in order to shut the rest of the blinds.

The flowers, he thought, must still be in the street.

“That will do for now,” Aziraphale said as he returned to Crowley’s side, “but you really shouldn’t lie in the doorway. The locks may stop humans, but if Heaven sends me any backup, it won’t stop an angel.”

Crowley grumbled but heaved himself forward with a slow wriggle. The bookshop’s floors were not the nicest to slide along, but he made it into one of the back corners somehow, slithering back and forth, looping himself up into a pile of coils. It was dark here, and with all of his pitch scales he would be nearly invisible to any visitors as long as he didn’t move. All Aziraphale would need to do was drape a cloth over him and he might even look like a pile of books.

Aziraphale set down the chair he’d fetched at some point, and took a seat in it, facing Crowley. “I’m going to have a look at you, if you don’t mind,” he said, reaching one hand out to hover near enough Crowley could feel the warmth of it. It made him realize how chilly the shop was, without sunlight. Aziraphale probably had not turned on the furnace, if there even was one.

 _Do as you like,_ Crowley mumbled. He couldn’t reach his own magic at all; he was, effectively, an actual snake for all that he could do. He couldn’t even see the enchantment that was holding him to this form to try to break it.

Gently, Aziraphale smoothed a warm hand over his scales and Crowley felt the brush of ethereal energy as Aziraphale delved close to this true form. At least his true form was still there, even though it burned at the contact, even though he could not even writhe to escape. The only part of himself he could move was his coils, and he dared not do so with Aziraphale so near. So he simply endured, focusing on taking breaths he actually needed, and the warmth of Aziraphale’s palm upon him.

After a long while, too long to be good news considering there were no changes, Aziraphale withdrew and left Crowley without warmth.

 _Am I going to make it, Doc?_ Crowley joked weakly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, brows knit, and Crowley’s heart sank. “I’m afraid he was a bit more clever than I had hoped,” Aziraphale said softly. “And I suspect I may have been right for the wrong reasons. You _have_ been trapped in a very powerful form.”

 _I’m a snake,_ Crowley told him. _I can’t get to my power and without it, I’m_ _ **just**_ _a snake._ Even talking should have been beyond him, but he was still linked to his true form in some way and it afforded him that much, at least.

“Unfortunately that’s not entirely true,” Aziraphale said, sitting up a bit more in the chair. “Whatever spell he used is keeping you in this form, but it’s not using his magic to do it; it’s using yours. You cannot get to it because it’s already in use. And without stopping to recharge, your energy...”

 _It will run out,_ Crowley finished. The words ‘and then I’ll die’ dangled like a hanged man between them, unspoken. _How long?_

“Longer than we’ll need to figure out how to fix this,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I just have to-”

They both lifted their heads at the sound of the bookshop door jingling. Aziraphale glanced quickly at Crowley, a silent order to stay put, and then disappeared to intercept the arriving angels. They had to be angels, Crowley thought. Reinforcements, perhaps. Here to help Aziraphale kill him, unaware that if they just did nothing at all, he’d lose.

He coiled up tighter around himself, shoving his head into the center of the pile to hide the golden glow of his eyes, and he waited.

* * *

Crowley could not tell how much time passed between when Aziraphale left him and when the searing brand of his hand returned. He flinched, squeezing tighter together, unable to bear the sudden heat. Distantly, he heard a voice call his name, but he did not have the energy to answer. It was cold, too cold to move, too cold to do anything except wait. Hibernate. Preserve.

The hands returned, both of them now, sliding over his scales with searching fingers. They pried at him, at his belly and his neck, until Aziraphale got his arms around a section of him and began to tug. Crowley resisted; uncoiling would release the precious little heat left in him. Uncoiling would kill him.

But… Aziraphale would not kill him. Aziraphale would never kill him, just as he would never kill Aziraphale.

Bit by bit, in tiny increments, Crowley forced his body to obey him over his instincts, and he relaxed into Aziraphale’s grasp. Gently, and with warmth pouring from him, Aziraphale gathered great loops of Crowley’s slender form to his chest, until he carried enough to tax normal human strength. No part of Crowley touched the floor as he began to walk.

Crowley wanted to ask where they were going, but it was all he could do to cling to the available parts of Aziraphale, holding on while they crossed the bookshop, and holding tighter when the motions changed.

Stairs.

They were going upstairs.

Crowley hadn’t realized there _was_ an upstairs. The angel certainly did have a lot of books, to fill two whole stories. He buried his snout in Aziraphale’s warm neck and watched the blurry motion of walls passing them by. Due to a lack of eyelids, he couldn’t close his eyes, but his torpor was making it difficult to see anyway.

Aziraphale’s voice rumbled under Crowley’s scutes, his words felt more than heard. “You’re being an awfully big baby.”

Crowley’s forked, purple tongue flicked out to tickle at Aziraphale’s neck, just to feel him jump.

A moment later, he was deposited somewhere soft and cold and dusty. He snorted, stirring the dust further, and tried to cling to Aziraphale as Aziraphale was trying to put him down. Aziraphale sighed and snapped softly, and the dust around them cleared as though it had never been. Aziraphale took a seat beside him on the floor. The _bed_ , Crowley realized as the surface dipped deeply. Aziraphale had brought him upstairs to a bedroom, even though Crowley was certain he didn’t sleep.

Sound filtered through the chilled haze once more. “You’ll have to let go if you want me to warm you up, Crowley. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Aziraphale would not leave him. He knew that.

Slowly, as before, Crowley uncoiled from around Aziraphale’s hands, shifting as best as he could to allow Aziraphale space to lie down beside him. As soon as he has settled, Aziraphale reached for him again, hauling loops of Crowley over himself before drawing up the covers to hold in heat.

“There,” Aziraphale said at last, his hands coming to rest on either side of Crowley’s neck. “You warm up, and I’ll keep looking for a way out of this.”

Crowley stirred, but it was a fight against exhaustion. He wanted to ask what had happened with the angels, but instead, he crashed face first into sleep.

* * *

When he woke, his faculties had returned to normal. His heart beat quickly, and his scales were warm, and he could see and hear and smell like he should have been able to do before. The duvet was a pleasant weight over Crowley’s body and Aziraphale was better than a warm rock in the sun beneath him. For several long moments, he simply lay there, soaking in the warmth and companionship, before the sound of a turning page drew his attention. Aziraphale’s hands hadn’t moved from his neck.

 _What are you doing?_ he asked, unmoving. _How long was I out?_

“Only an hour or so,” Aziraphale told him, “and I’ve been reading a book. Well, I’ve been reading several books.” His thumbs stroked gently to either side of Crowley’s neck, and Crowley found himself wishing he had eyes that could close to better savor the moment. “I hadn’t realized you needed heat in this form, or I wouldn’t have left you in the corner like that. You could have said something.”

He couldn’t have, Crowley thought. He hadn’t known, either. Usually, with sufficient access to his magic, to his infernal energy, he could keep himself warm with very little effort. _Did you find anything in your books?_

“Not precisely,” Aziraphale said hesitantly. “Of course, as you might guess, humans aren’t particularly prolific when it comes to changing a snake into a human-shaped demon again, and it’s not like I can just go ask Heaven about it. I had to tell Gabriel you’d been vanquished for a while. They gave me a medal, you know. Just for being here and dealing with you.”

 _Angel,_ Crowley said, not sure whether to laugh or be offended. _What did you find?_

Aziraphale fell silent, and Crowley realized the nattering had just been a stall. He slithered forward enough to poke his snout out from under the covers, only to find Aziraphale staring down his nose at him. “You’re not going to like it much,” he said slowly, “but I do have an idea.”

 _What idea?_ Crowley asked cautiously.

“…How do you feel about an exorcism?”

Crowley reared up as much as he could, which was just far enough to bump his head on the floating book Aziraphale had been reading. _You want to send me back to Hell?_

“No!” Aziraphale exclaimed quickly. “No, no no no, not at all. But you know, before the humans had sorted out that whole business with banishing a demon back to Hell, they had certain ways of simply… well, _removing_ you from a body. Or a place, I assume.”

 _Which would send me back to Hell,_ Crowley repeated. Aziraphale knew better than that. He had to. A demon with no body to inhabit couldn’t retain a hold on the mortal plane, and would be pulled back down to Hell. It wasn’t exactly common dinner gossip, but it wasn’t a secret, either.

“Not if you had a body to go to,” Aziraphale said. He took a breath and let it out. “I’ve thought about it quite a bit, and I think… we can, at least in part, switch places. If I can remove you from that body, then I can step in instead. Without your essence to draw upon, I believe the body would return to a standard state. That is, the one which doesn’t require you to do anything to maintain it.”

 _And while you’re doing that I just… what, sit in your body and wait?_ Crowley asked, a little heatedly. Of course they couldn’t do that. Even if Aziraphale might be able to reach over and muck around in his corporation while he was out, there was no way he could inhabit an angel’s…

Could he?

“I don’t see why not,” Aziraphale said, almost as if he had heard Crowley’s thoughts. “As long as I’m not in it, you should be safe. I can pop over, use my magic to switch the body back to human shape. That should release your magic from its hold, and then we can just… swap back.”

 _How simple,_ Crowley said dryly.

Aziraphale frowned at him, but it was without rancor. “I didn’t say it would be simple, but I do think it will work.”

 _And if we explode in the middle?_ Crowley asked. _We’re not meant to touch essences._

“And the alternative is any better?” Aziraphale cried, a little too loudly, a little too stressed, and Crowley immediately felt guilty. He was trying to help. “I can’t- I don’t… Being here alone...”

 _Alright,_ Crowley said, stopping him before he could say anything that would _really_ get them in trouble. _Let’s try it._

* * *

Crowley coiled himself within the chalk sigil Aziraphale had been redrawing for the last half an hour on the bookshop’s floorboards. It had already been there, serving as portal markings to Heaven, but Aziraphale had been changing them so that rather than transport Crowley’s essence to Heaven or to Hell, it would transport him approximately three feet to the left. This should have been a great deal less complicated than hopping dimensions, but transport portals were not meant to transport small distances- that was what feet were for.

Crowley hadn’t been able to read any of the Enochian when Aziraphale started, but several of the smaller symbols he recognized. They were human in origin, or even demonic when he asked for Crowley’s opinion about which correction to make. Before they had begun, they had measured all twenty feet of him before laying the first mark, so that there would be no scale out of line. Aziraphale now stood at the edge of the design, near a small symbol of his own. Crowley had watched him place each mark, one after the other, as carefully as if his life depended upon it- and in a way, it did. A misstep in the setup could mean disaster in the practice.

Considering their general luck, this was either going to go very well or very badly and in the instance of the latter, they would immediately not care how badly it had gone, as they would no longer exist.

Which was not, he knew, that different than how things were about to go for him anyhow. Aziraphale had thought he might last for a few days under the pressures of the spell, but Crowley could tell it would be less. Hours, maybe, at this rate. Short enough that he knew they would not get a second chance.

He had not told Aziraphale; he had never liked goodbyes. See you laters, perhaps, or until we meet agains. My treat next times, for sure, but not goodbyes.

“I think that should do it,” Aziraphale said, drawing Crowley’s attention. Their eyes met, and Crowley could see the worry already mounting in them, and Crowley knew it didn’t matter whether or not he said a word. Aziraphale knew.

They stared, longer than necessary, long enough for Crowley to reconsider his stance on goodbyes. Maybe it wouldn’t count if he only said thank you, or I appreciate this, or I…

_Aziraphale, I-_

“Don’t,” Aziraphale said firmly, stepping forward into his place in the markings. “This is going to work. You’ll see, and in a little while this will just be one more story we can only tell each other.”

_Aziraphale…_

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale said, voice cracking. “Don’t. You’ll only have to take it back after, and I can’t-… that’s worse, you understand. Are you ready?”

 _No,_ Crowley said, even though he was.

Aziraphale ignored his sarcasm and closed his eyes. To the right and left of Crowley, the incense began to burn, and the bowl of water behind him began to boil. He pulled himself a little bit tighter together, uncertain how much interaction with an angel’s magic water needed before it became _holy_ water. Aziraphale had assured him that it would not, but he had immediately followed the declaration with _probably_ , which had been less than reassuring overall.

Then, very suddenly, Crowley found he had no need to worry about the water, or the incense or the markings, or anything else as his consciousness was abruptly torn from his corporation. He saw Aziraphale’s true essence, all of the wings and eyes and burning holy fire that comprised an Angel wrapped around an insignificant human form. He saw his own body, limp and sprawling as if someone had poured him from a jug, only barely contained within the circle; they had misjudged what his body would do with nothing to hold the muscles tightly drawn, but he could do nothing to stop it now.

It didn’t matter long. Aziraphale dove forward, his body leaning as his essence expanded out from it, too brilliant for Crowley to look upon as it streamed toward his vacant body. Crowley, almost too late, hooked talons into Aziraphale’s body before it could be vacated entirely as well, tethering himself to the mortal coil once more. It burned to touch, sanctified in a way that denied his infernal spirit from entering, but he clung on anyway.

Below him, or behind him, it was hard to tell with such split, warped senses, he saw a fragmented vision of his serpent form, and of the holy fire burning all around it. For one horrifying second, he saw the bookshop in flames, everything turning to ash around him, burning because an angel had helped a demon. Burning the way Crowley’s Fall had done.

And then he was slingshotted back into his now-human form, his split perception snapping back into a single pair of yellow, slitted eyes. He scrambled back, one hand sloshing into the water bowl which, very thankfully, had indeed not turned into holy water. Aziraphale came crashing to the ground as though he’d been pushed, as though he’d been thrashing to escape something.

Everything fell still.

Aziraphale sat panting, staring wide-eyed at Crowley, and making him wonder what the angel had seen while inside of his body. Sometimes flesh held memories inside of it, the way fabric held a scent.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Aziraphale said faintly. “Are you… you?”

“I think so,” Crowley said, patting at his chest with one hand. “Are you?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale echoed. “I wouldn’t… I would advise against changing shapes anytime soon, though. I’m afraid the effect of swapping was bit different than I thought it would be, and I’m- I’m not certain you won’t get stuck again.”

That didn’t bode well, but if he was going to be stuck in a shape, he was glad he was back in his favorite one. If he had to, now, he could always go to the quartermaster and request a repair, or work on it himself now that-

He reached up and snapped his fingers, righting the water bowl, and relief flooded through him. He could reach his magic again.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Aziraphale said. He twisted around and clambered heavily to his feet, a little wobbly still.

Crowley got to his feet as well, feeling only a little vertigo at being… well, vertical again. “Seems to all be in order,” he said when he felt stable. “Little woozy.”

“Yes, that does happen after recorporation,” Aziraphale said. “At least, so I hear. I’ve never been discorporated before. Unpleasant, if you ask me. Shall we agree not to do it again?”

“Fine by me,” Crowley said, and then stood there awkwardly a moment, looking everywhere except for Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. What, he wondered, did one say after swapping bodies? A lunch invitation just didn’t seem appropriate. Saying thank you and bolting didn’t either.

Aziraphale looked just as lost, fidgeting in place, fingers toying with one another. “I suppose you’ll… want to be on your way, then?” He straightened up, brow furrowing. “You’re probably quite late to wherever you were going.”

“Here,” Crowley said, too quickly to be suave about it. He swallowed down the embarrassment and looked for the flowers and chocolates he had brought. “I was- I was coming to see… the shop. Celebrate the opening.”

“Oh, the flowers! And that box,” Aziraphale said, straightening and moving away from Crowley, toward where he had put the chocolates. Crowley trailed after him. “You brought them for me?” He gave a snap and the flower pot appeared intact beside the box. Gently, Aziraphale ran a finger over one of the petals and gave Crowley a questioning look.

Crowley was not, normally speaking, the flower-giving sort, but the shop had not been a normal sort of event. Aziraphale had never put down these sorts of roots before, which meant Crowley had not, either. He had wanted to, and he would if Aziraphale stayed, which is why he had brought something else with roots. He had not wanted to admit that, but they were quite a bit beyond the point where Crowley could have dropped them off without comment.

“Thought you might like them,” he mumbled. “The box has chocolates in it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, quietly. “I suppose- would you like to stay for a mug, then?”

“It’s… not that kind of chocolate,” Crowley said, feeling the heat as his cheeks pinked a little. “I made… something else. You’ll see. I should go. I’ve already… the angels could come back. I just wanted to say congratulations on the new place.”

Aziraphale gave him a soft look. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley said, desperate for exactly this sort of attention and completely at a loss for what to do when he had it. “I appreciate you… trusting me. With your… y’know.”

“It’s just a body, Crowley,” Aziraphale told him, not letting up on the pressure of his affection at all. “I believe I would trust you with things worth far more than that.”

Crowley positively _squirmed_ at those words, certain the flames in his cheeks were catching fire to every nearby part. He didn’t know what to say, or do, and a few aimless noises escaped him before Aziraphale had mercy.

“Perhaps you could stop by soon?” Aziraphale offered. “I’ll let you buy me lunch for saving you.”

Cheeky, Crowley thought, but could not stop his smile. “Yeah, angel. That sounds good.”

They stood there another moment too long, lingering in ways that spoke of things they couldn’t quite have, not the way they wanted, and then Crowley nodded, and headed for the door. He would, he was certain, find his way back here with a third plan, and perhaps it would go better than the first two had.

After all, as the humans like to say, the third time’s a charm.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Third Time's a Charm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668243) by [SkyAsimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru)




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